


Nails as Light as the Color of Your Eyes

by SinfullyPresent



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Fluffy, I don't think I've even properly published anything but fluff this far, M/M, Nail Painting, Oneshot, Oops, enjoy?, i dunno, it's the shortest thing in the world, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, louis painting harry's nails, louis paints harry's nails and harry talks about how in love he is with louis, soft louis, that's literally it - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:17:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinfullyPresent/pseuds/SinfullyPresent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“When I first said it to you, that I loved you, it was because I did, y’know?” Louis didn’t know, didn’t understand where this was meant to be going. But he didn’t say that. Just painted another streak onto Harry’s nail.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, the time in which Harry wakes Louis up at three am to ask him to paint his nails, and Louis says yes because he can't say no to Harry when he's got puppy dog eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nails as Light as the Color of Your Eyes

It’s impossible, is what this whole damn thing is. It’s fucking impossible, but Harry is so fucking pleased with it that Louis doesn’t let himself to pause and tell Harry how much he hates this. And it’s not that he hates that Harry is doing this. It’s not that at all. It’s that he sucks at it. He’s absolute shit at it and the little paint brush won’t go where he wants it to and he might just kill Harry for ever thinking that this was a good idea. He just might.

But he doesn’t.

Instead he dips the brush back into the bottle of light blue paint, and shifts his hand to hold Harry’s ring finger, his thumb resting against the small band at Harry’s knuckle while he fought for a proper angle.

Harry is still rambling on.

Something about what Gemma said to him on the phone the day before. Louis doesn’t know. He can’t concentrate on what Harry’s saying, not really. He’s too busy trying to paint Harry’s nail. (Edit: he’s too busy failing at painting Harry’s nail.)

“I really love you, you know?”

Louis snaps to attention with those words, polish brush hanging in the air and eyes wide as he looks up at Harry, focuses on this features for a moment before he lets a small smile tip up the edges of his lips.

“I love you, too, Harry,” he whispers back. He’s not sure when that started, the whispering. All of the lights in their home are off, except for this one kitchen bulb above them, and even that is dimmed, basking them in a warm light that has Louis sort of sleepy. Perhaps the whispering only started as to not disturb the dark around them.

That seems right.

Louis returns back to laying a second coat of the polish on Harry’s nail, his lower lip slotting between his teeth.

“No, no, Louis. I, like,” Harry waits for Louis to look up before continuing, “I really, really love you. A lot. Too much.”

Louis offers another grin, bigger this time, before he’s straightening up and leaning in for a kiss, Harry’s lips soft and familiar on his own.

The kiss seems to sate Harry, and he lets Louis focus back on his nails, his feet crossed comfortably in Louis’ lap and his hand resting delicately on the table between them.

“I don’t know when it happened,” Harry breathes out, his voice taking on that drawling sound that Louis recognizes as his ‘thinking voice.’ Soft, and slow, and made of honey.

Louis’ grateful that his voice is so easy to listen to, it makes it easier to concentrate on the words shared between them as well as the project in front of him.

“Don’t know when what happened, love?” Louis spoke back, to show Harry he was listening. Ring finger done. Three fingers left. Nearly finished, now.

“When I fell this deep in for you,” Harry answers, voice saying the words as if they were the most simple thing in the world. Louis has to pause and squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, just give himself a moment to regain composure before he’s opening his eyes back up, letting out a hum to prompt Harry on.

“When I first said it to you, that I loved you, it was because I did, y’know?” Louis didn’t know, didn’t understand where this was meant to be going. But he didn’t say that. Just painted another streak onto Harry’s nail.

“Like, um, okay. It’s like when you take a bite of good chocolate cake, right? And you’re like, bloody hell, I love that cake. But then you take a bite of the cake with heavy frosting on top and it’s like a whole new level of love? You know?”

Louis pauses, “Are you calling me a chocolate cake, Harry?”

Harry lets out a little whine, and Louis grins cheekily, pressing a kiss to Harry’s knuckles in apology, letting him continue.

“I just mean when I first said ‘I love you’ I meant it. But now all this time later… I dunno, Louis. I’m in love with you in a whole different kind of way. I feel like I could write books and books of poetry about you, but never publish it just because I wanted to keep my words about the color of your eyes or the slope of your nose to myself. I can’t explain it, just. When I say I love you, just know that it’s only because those are the only words even _kind of_ powerful enough to say what I want them to say. That’s all.”

Louis thinks he can’t really breathe properly.

He’s been in love with this boy for five years. Married to him for three, and he’s painting his goddamned nails, and Louis still can’t believe he’s got him. Can’t believe he managed to get Harry, who spoke like this and asked for his nails to be painted at three in the morning and who went on little rambles about his love for Louis.

Louis can’t fucking believe it.

Can’t fucking fathom beginning to start respond. Doesn’t even know how to articulate his thoughts. He’s never been able to speak the way Harry can.

So he doesn’t say anything. Just finishes Harry’s middle finger and moves on to his pointer finger. Just squeezes Harry’s hand lightly with his own.

That seems to be enough, because Harry is settling back into his seat, as if satisfied, with his head resting back against the chair and his eyes fluttering shut.

“Oi. You can’t go to sleep if I can’t,” Louis whined softly, thunking the knuckle of Harry’s thumb with a small whine.

“Going to stop me, Tomlinson?”

It’s another half hour before Harry’s thumb ever gets painted.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is possibly the shortest thing I have ever written, and I haven't a clue why I published it. Kudos are enjoyed, and comments are hugely appreciated. xx


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